Harry Harrison - Star Smashers Of The Galaxy Rangers

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Star Smashers of the Galaxy Rangers
By
Harry Harrison
v1.0 Initial release - Kronos
v1.1 Removed extra linebreaks resulting in 1 line per paragraph, added blank line between paragraphs
Harry Harrison was born in Stamford, Connecticut in 1925 and lived in New York City until 1943,
when he joined the United States Army. He was a machine-gun instructor during the war, but returned to
his art studies after leaving the army. A career first as a commercial illustrator and later as art director and
editor for various picture, news, and fiction magazines fitted him only for a lifetime residence in New
York, so he changed it for the freelance writer's precarious existence and moved his family to Cuautla,
Mexico. Since then he has lived in Kent, Camden, Italy, Denmark, Spain and Surrey; he has now
returned to his native land, but he has not ceased to wander. He rationalizes this continual change of
residence as essential research, when in reality it is an incurable case of wanderlust that enables him to
indulge all his enthusiasms: travel, skiing, practising Esperanto, and making an annual pilgrimage to the
Easter Congress of the British Science Fiction Association.
1
JEST 89,000 VOLTS
"Come on, Jerry," Chuck called out cheerfully from inside the rude shed that the two chums had fixed
up as a simple laboratory. "The old particle accelerator is fired up and rarin' to go!"
"I'm fired up and rarin' to go too," Jerry whispered into the delicate rose ear of lovely Sally
Goodfellow, his lips smacking their way along her jaw towards her lips, his insidious hands stealthily
encircling her waist.
"Silly!" Sally giggled and wriggled free of his powerful, yet tender embrace with a solid blow of the
heel of her hand against his chin. "You know that I like Chuck just as much as I like you." Then, with a
saucy toss of her shoulder-length locks she was gone, and Jerry looked after her longingly, fingering his
bruised jaw.
"Come on, Jerry, the accumulators are crackling with barely restrained power," Chuck shouted.
"Here I come."
Jerry entered the shed and closed and locked the door carefully behind him, for there were discoveries
and yetunpatented inventions here that would set the largest corporations in the land to licking their lips. It
just so happened that these two young men, still students at a secluded State College in drowsy
Pleasantville, had two of the keenest minds in the country, perhaps the entire world. Tall, dark-haired,
broad-shouldered Jerry Courteney, handsome as a Greek god with a whimsical smile forever playing
about his lips, would never be taken for the topnotch engineer that he was, the man who walked off with
every medal and every award in every field that he chose to study. He looked less like a scholar than the
rugged frontiersman he really was, for he had been born up on the far northern border of our country, on
a homesteaded ranch in Alaska north of the Arctic Circle. In that rough environment he had grown up
with his four strapping brothers and strapping father, who strapped them all quite well when they got out
of line, as high-spirited boys ever will. The others were all still there, hewing a precarious living from the
virgin wilderness, but much as he loved the icy silences and whispering trees, Jerry had been bitten by the
bug of knowledge, just as his arms were bitten by the ravenous mosquitoes so his skin was tougher than
shoe leather, and had made his way from school to school, scholarship to scholarship until he reached
State College.
Chuck van Chider, no less of a genius, had had a far easier time of it. A blond giant of man with arms
as thick as a strong man's legs, he was the heart and spirit of the State Stegasauri, the championship
football team, the man who could open a hole in any line, who could carry the ball through any number of
grappling foe. When he remembered to. Twice during the last season he had stopped stock still with the
game surging around him as a solution to a complicated mathematical problem suddenly presented itself
to him. He went on to win these games, so his teammates never minded the blank moments, and he was
also the heir to the van Chider millions which also did not make him any enemies. Born with a platinum
spoon in his mouth, his father had prospected a platinum mine on the very spot where the Pleasantville
Mental Hospital now stood; he had never known want. Before the mine had played out, the shrewd
Chester van Chider had sold out and used the money to buy the tiny cheese works outside of town. By
the addition of inert ingredients and deliquescing agents to the sturdy cheese he had built a world wide
market for Van Chider Cheddar - and a fortune for himself. Though discontented radicals from the
lunatic fringe often said his cheese tasted like rancid sealing wax, the public at large loved it, mostly for its
deliquescing agents which absorbed water from the atmosphere so that after a few days, if you didn't eat
fast enough, you had more cheese than you started with. Chester van Chider was a shrewd businessman,
unlike the greedy operators who bought his platinum mine only to have it play out a few weeks later, this
blow being so great that most of them ended up in the aforementioned looney bin built on the minesite.
The keen business mind of the father was reflected in the mathematical genius of the son.
In some ways as different as night and day, blond and dark-haired, wiry and stocky, the two friends
were very much alike inside. They had strong hearts and rugged digestions - and minds that were as keen
as any that could be found. All around them, in the cluttered laboratory that had once been a simple shed,
lay the fruits of their mutual genius. A tossed-aside bit of breadboard circuitry that would one day
revolutionize long-line transmission of electricity, a bit of scribbled paper that elaborated a simple
equation for squaring the circle. These were the playthings of their ever-curious minds - and their latest
plaything now filled the room and hummed with life. A massive, hulking, 89,000-volt particle accelerator
that they had put together from surplus electromagnets and a rusty water boiler. High-density batteries of
their own invention brimmed full of electricity, and all that was required now was to throw the great gang
switch to send the charged particles smashing into the target. "Put the rubidium on the target area, will
you?" Chuck called out, busily at work adjusting a meter, his thick, strong fingers as delicate as those of a
master watchmaker at the precise job.
"Right on," Jerry answered and reached for the sample of the rare metal they were bombarding - but
seized instead a piece of Van Chider Cheddar from the large wheel they always kept nearby. It was a
moment of youthful madness, a harmless jest brought on perhaps by the stillwarm memory of those
precious lips against which his had so recently rested. Filled with the joy of life, he prized the damp piece
of cheese free and slapped it onto the chamber and sealed and evacuated it.
"Stand clear," Chuck shouted. "There she blows!" With a mighty crackling the batteries discharged
completely, and the sharp smell of ozone filled the air. Visible only as a sudden fine beam of purple Ught,
the particles struck the target and vanished.
"Experiment eighty-three," Chuck said, licking a pencil and making a note on the chart. The clamps
pulled free and the cover came away and he looked in at the target and his eyes bulged and the pencil fell
from his limp fingers. "I'll be double gosh-darned!" he whispered. Jerry could contain himself no longer
but burst out laughing at his friend's astonishment "Just a joke," he gasped through the laughter. "I put
some cheese in place of the rubidium."
"This is cheese?" Chuck asked, and withdrew a spherical black lump from the target area.
This time it was Jerry's turn to gape and gasp, and Chuck enjoyed a good chuckle at his friend's
discomfiture. But the fun once over, they turned their attention to the sudden mystery.
"It was cheese before it was bombarded," Jerry said, suddenly serious, looking at the shiny black
pellet through a strong lens.
"There are a number of unusual chemicals in my father's cheese. Somehow they united under the
bombardment to form this new compound, once the large quantities of hydrogen and oxygen had been
freed from the water. What can it be?"
"We can find out easily enough - but I have just had an idea. Take a vacuum tube. . . ."
"Of course, I had the same obvious idea. Put this new substance in place of the cathode and hook it
up and see what kind of signal it produces."
"Exactly my idea." Jerry smiled. "But we need a name for this substance."
"I think cheddite fills the bill."
"Bang on!"
They cracked the glass casing of a hulking PF167 power tube and put the mysterious fragment of
cheddite in place of the cathode, Jerry deftly wiring it into the circuit while Chuck took a glass rod and
quickly blew a new envelope for the tube. A few moments more sufficed to wire the tube into a
breadboarded amplifier circuit and to switch the power on.
"Give it some more juice," Jerry said, frowning at the meters hooked up to the output of the circuit.
"She's taking all we have now," Chuck answered, spinning the great theostat to its final stop.
"Well, then there's something mighty fishy here. Look. The current is pouring into the circuit - but it is
not coming out! Not a needle has flickered from the stops. Where is all that energy going?"
Chuck scratched his wide jaw in puzzlement. "It's not coming out as volts or ohms or watts, that is for
sure. So it must be radiant energy of a different kind. Let's hook up a hunk of aerial to that output and
see what kind of signal it is putting out."
A handy metal coat hanger served that function well and was wired into the circuit while test
instruments were set up around it.
"I'll give it just a millivolt first," Jerry said as he threw the switch.
What happened next was as soundless as it was shocking. The moment the current went into the
circuit something was broadcast from the coat hanger-aerial, because a coat-hanger-shaped chunk of
wall instantly vanished. It happened soundlessly and in a fraction of a second of time. Jerry hurled off the
current, and they rushed to the wall. Through the new opening they could see the board fence that circled
the backyard - and the same strange force had also taken a coat-hanger-shaped section from the fence
as well.
"And spreading," Chuck mused. "That hole in the fence is two or three times as big as the first
opening."
"Not only that," Jerry said, squinting along the edge of the hole. "If you look, you'll see a stub of a mast
next door where the Grays' new color TV aerial used to be. And, let me think for a second, yes, I'm
right. That missing section of fence is where the landlady's cat sleeps in the afternoon. And he was
sleeping there when I came in."
"This will take some thinking out," Chuck said as they hammered boards over the opening in the wall
"We had better keep it to ourselves for a while. I'll send an anonymous check to the Grays for their
aerial."
"We better think about an anonymous cat for my landlady as well."
A sudden knocking on the door startled them both, and they exchanged glances, for it was the
landlady calling to them. Mrs. Hosenpefer was a good woman, though advanced in years, a widow who
had run her home as a boardinghouse ever since her husband, a switchman on the railroad, had met a
tragic end under a boxcar that his advancing deafness had prevented hearing approach. Somewhat guiltily
the two young men opened the door to face the white-haired widow wringing her hands with despair.
"I don't know what to do," she wailed, "and I know I shouldn't bother you out here, but something
terrible has happened. My cat" - both listeners recoiled at the word "has been stolen. Poor Max, who
would do that to a sweet harmless animal like that?"
"Just what do you mean 'stolen'?" Jerry asked, fighting desperately to keep the tension out of his voice.
"I can't imagine why, some people will do awful things these days, it must be the drugs. Here I thought
my Max was asleep on the fence out there" - the two listening men stirred ever so slightly at the words -
"but he wasn't. Kidnapped. I just had a phone call from the sheriff in Clarktown that somebody had
thrown Max through a window or something right into the middle of the Unreformed Baptist choir
practice. Max was very angry and scratched the soloist. They caught him and called me because of the
tag on his collar."
"This call came through now?" Jerry asked, innocently.
"Not a minute ago. I rushed right out here to ask for help."
"And Clarktown is eighty miles away," Chuck said, and the chums exchanged pregnant, significant
glances.
"I know, an awful distance. How can I get my darling Max back?"
"Now don't you worry an instant," Jerry said, gently ushering the bereaved woman out. "We'll drive
right over and get Max. It's in the bag." The closing door shut off her cries of gratitude, and the
experimenters faced each other.
"Eighty miles!" Chuck shouted.
"Instantaneous transmission!"
"We've done it!"
"Done what?"
"I don't know - but whatever it is, I feel it is a great step forward for mankind!"
2
A SHOCKING DISCOVERY
"We'll just have to go back to the old drawing board" Chuck sighed gloomily, looking at the large hole
in the ground where the boulder had been and at the larger hole in the nearby hillside. "We just can't
control the cheddite projector no matter how hard we try."
"Let me have one more go," Jerry muttered as he probed the depths of the device with a long-shanked
screwdriver. For security's sake they had built their invention into a small portable Japanese television set,
and so cunningly contrived the inner wiring that it still functioned as a TV as well. Jerry finished his
adjustment and switched the set on. There was a quick glimpse of a vampire sinking his fangs into a girl's
fair neck before a secret button activated the cheddite projector. The TV screen now displayed a
complex wave form which changed shape as further adjustments were made.
"I think this is it." Jerry grinned as he sighted along the aerial. "I'm going to focus on that stick and
move it over by the ridge there. Here goes."
There was no sound or visible radiation from the device, but the cheddite force sprang out, unseen yet
irresistible. The stick did not move. However, a great rock a hundred yards away disappeared in a
fraction of a second and reappeared over the lake behind them. The sudden tumultuous splashing was
followed instantly by a wave of water that washed around their ankles.
"Our problem is control." Chuck grimaced unhappily, wiping off the TV set.
"There has to be a way," Jerry said, his words as firm as the set of his jaw. "We know that the
cheddite produces a wave of kappa radiation that drops anything in its field through into the lambda
dimension where space time laws as we know them do not exist. It appears from the mathe.matical
model you constructed that this lambda dimension, while congruent with ours in every way, is really very
much smaller. What was your estimate?"
"Roughly, our spiral galaxy which is about eighty thousand light-years across is, in the lambda
dimension, about a mile and a half wide."
"Right. So anything moving a short distance in the lambda dimension will have moved an incredible
distance in our own dimension when it emerges. That's the theory all right, and it checks out to fifteen
decimal places - but why can't we make it work?"
It was then that Jerry realized that he was talking to himself. Chuck had that glazed look in his eyes
that meant his brain was churning away busily at some complex mathematical theorem. Jerry recognized
the signs and smiled understandingly as he packed the cheddite projector and test equipment into the
back of their battered jeep. He had just finished doing this when Chuck snapped back to reality as
suddenly as he had left.
"I have it. Molecular interference."
"Of course!" Jerry said gleefully, snapping his fingers.
"It's obvious. The kappa radiation is deflected ever so minutely by the atmosphere. No wonder we
couldn't control the results. We'll have to carry on the rest of the experiments in a vacuum. But it will be
some job to build a big vacuum chamber."
"There's one we can use not far away," Chuck said with a chuckle. "Just one hundred miles . . ."
They burst out laughing together as Jerry pointed straight up. "You're so right - there's all the vacuum
we need up there. Just a matter of getting to it."
"The Pleasantville Eagle will take care of that. We'll say that we're testing, what? Navigational
equipment. They'll let us borrow her ."
The Pleasantville Eagle was the plane that flew the football team to all its games. Since it was a 747, it
flew most of the spectators as well. Both Jerry and Chuck were trained pilots, as well as superb rifle
shots and champion polo players, so had relieved the pilot at the controls many times. They had modified
and improved most of the electronic equipment on the big plane so it seemed only natural that they would
have improvements for the navigational rig as well. They would have no trouble getting permission to test
fly the plane, none at all. Particularly since Chuck's dad had donated the plane to the school in the first
place.
They hurried back to the lab and had just finished building the cheddite projector into a navigation
frequency receiver when there came a familiar light tapping at the door. Both young men sprang to open
it, scuffling goodnaturedly before throwing it wide.
"Hi," Sally Goodfellow said cheerfully, strolling in casually, a vision in a green cotton summer frock,
almost the same green as her lovely eyes, her shoulder-length hair the color of golden cornsilk. "What are
you two guys up to now?"
"Same old stuff," Jerry said offhandedly as Chuck winked broadly behind the girl's back. No one, they
had agreed, no one was to know about the cheddite projector until they had tested it thoroughly. They
had taken their oath on that, and as much as they loved Sally with every fiber of their beings, they would
not break that oath.
"What old stuff?" Sally asked, not deceived for an instant.
"Improved navigation aid. You're just in time to drive us to the field so we can install it on the Eagle.
We have the jeep engine apart, rebuilding it."
Sally arched one delicate eyebrow. "You really think I'll buy this story about navigational aids? I know
that is one thing your new invention is not. Remember how you told me the flying wing design was a kid's
kite? And the paralysis vibrator was a soldering gun? So what do we really have here?"
Both of them had the good manners to blush, but in response to her questioning they only returned
mumbled evasions and rushed to load the equipment into the back seat of her yellow convertible. Seeing
that frontal attack had failed, she decided on subtlety which worked well for her for she had a fine mind,
almost as good as that of her father, Professor Goodfellow, the school president.
"Sit up here with me, Chuck," she said, patting the front seat invitingly. "Jerry can ride in back and look
after your old equipment."
Chuck was only too eager to oblige, and they chatted happily all the way to the airport, driving into the
glory of the summer sunset. Sally parked under the great wing of the Pleasantville Eagle so they could
unload. Jerry saw Old John shuffling between the buildings with his trusty mop and pail and called him
over to help them. Old John was an institution at this institution, a black gentleman of advanced years.
"Dat's some mighty heavy stuff you have dere. Too much for an old man like me." But there was a glint
of unspoken humor in his eye as he bent to lift the hundredpound transceiver in one hand. A lifetime of
hard labor had made no weakling of him.
They made their way through the cavernous plane to the flight deck above the nose, where they set to
work at once with their soldering irons while Sally watched with growing curiosity.
"Do you have the axis-traction forceps?" Jerry asked, half buried in the equipment. "I really need them
to get at this baby,"
"They're not here," Chuck answered after rooting through the tool box. "Maybe we left them in the
car. I'll go look."
He made his way back through the now-darkened plane to the car and found the forceps where they
had slid under the front seat. Whistling quietly through his teeth, he was making his way back through the
gloom of the great cabin when a voice called to him.
"Chuck. Over here."
It was Sally, sitting by a window and beckoning him toward her, the last light of day touching her
sweet profile with gold. He went over to her, and she smiled.
"There's something I want to show you," she said, and when he was close, she pulled forward the top
of her scoopneck dress. "No bra," she husked.
Even in that dim light the blush that suffused Chuck's fair skin could be seen as a rising tide of scarlet.
Yet, despite his shyness, his reflexes were still hard at work. "Not until you tell me what the new invention
is." Sally laughed saucily, slapping aside his questing wrist as she pushed shut the neck of her dress.
"Sally, honey, you know I can't, gee, we have an oath. . . ."
"I have something twice as good as an oath," she murmured, pulling her dress forward again. "See?
The invention?"
"It's, well, hard to say." His voice was thick and turgid.
"You'll find a way." She guided his hand. "Here, this will help."
In an almost hypnotized voice Chuck began to talk. But, even as the first words left his mouth, he
heard a tiny clinking sound and, his attention drawn now, was aware of a darker form in the darkness of
the cabin. With great reluctance he drew away from Sally and turned on the light above the seat.
"Who's there?" he called out, clenching one great fist. "Come out."
There was a rustle a few rows down, and a familiar figure emerged.
"Just cleaning out the ashtrays, suh," Old John said. "Gotta be spick-'n-span for the next game."
They both laughed, and Chuck patted the old man on the shoulder. "Better go clean the trays in the aft
section," he said kindly.
Old John ambled off, and Sally sat down again, Chuck dropping heavily beside her, and they were just
getting back on the job where they had left off when the rasping of the loudspeakers caused them to
jump up hurriedly.
"Chuck," Jerry's voice said. "Just about done up here. Bring that forceps on the double, and we'll see if
this old thing really works."
There was repressed excitement in the tiny cabin as Jerry made the last connections.
"There," he said, leaning back and wiping his greasestained hand on a piece of cloth. "Ready to go. All
that has to be done is to take her up and try her out."
"Oh, please," Sally begged. "Please let me come with you. I know it is something exciting."
"Exciting isn't the word for it!" Jerry chortled. "This is the greatest ball of wax to ever come down the
pike, you wait and see. Once we prove the theory tonight.
"The whole world will know by tomorrow when we break the news," Chuck said. "So why don't we
tell Sally now? She's a good sport and won't spill the beans." They nodded in silent agreement with each
other.
"Why not?" Jerry grinned. "It is only something that will revolutionize transportation, that's all. I won't
go into exactly how it works, it's a little complicated, and besides, it's a secret. But to put it simply the
cheddite projector here will move this entire plane a couple of hundred miles in a fraction of a second,
bang, just like that."
"What a saving on fuel!" Sally gasped.
"You're not just whistling 'Dixie'," Chuck agreed. "But more than just the saving in fuel will be the
saving in time. With this gadget aboard, all a plane has to do is take off and hover over the airport, press
the button, and zing they are over the other airport, maybe all the way across the country."
"It could be important for defense too," Jerry said, suddenly serious. "The Air Force will have to be
the first to know."
"If it works," Chuck said, inserting a note of caution into the conversation. "But by tomorrow we will
know for certain."
"For you," a guttural, husky voice, rich with menace, said, "there will be no tomorrow. I'm taking
over." As one they spun about and looked at the open doorway, their jaws dropping in unison. Old John
stood there, but suddenly, as though a mask had been ripped away, they saw that Old John was not as
old as they had thought. Was that powder that turned his hair gray at the temples? He stood straighter,
alert, a sneer slashed across his features.
A Russian 7.62mm Shpagin M1941 PKS submachine gun was cradled in his arms, the gaping, deadly
mouth pointing unswervingly in their direction.
3
AN UNEXPECTED JOURNEY
Shocked, unbelieving silence filled the cabin like a gray fog. Chuck shook his head as though to clear
it, for this situation was impossible, Sally spoke, gasping, speaking for them all.
"This is impossible!"
In response the sneer on Old John's features only widened, and he slapped the blue steel of the gun
with one hand. "This is not only possible but it is a 7.62mm PKS capable of firing twenty-two shots a
second - so put up your hands,"
They raised their hands.
"Think of what you are doing," Jerry entreated, appealing to the man's higher senses. "You're throwing
up a good salary, security, a fine pension soon, for what? For some desperate plan that cannot possibly
work. Who paid you to do this - the Black Panthers'!"
"I am far beyond your petty bourgeois internal disruptionary feuds," he sneered viciously, reaching into
his pocket, while the gun barrel never wavered a fraction of an inch, and taking out a green cap which he
pulled on at a jaunty angle over one eye. As his hand came away, they all gasped in unison for there,
blazoned boldly on the front, was a great red star with the gold letters CCCP below it. He smiled coldly
at their consternation, "You will now stop calling me by my cover name and will refer to me by my
correct title of Lieutenant Johann Schwarzhandler of the Soviet Secret Police." As he said this, he clicked
his heels together, the sound loud in the tiny cabin.
"You can't mean it." Chuck gaped. "You're no Russian. I mean you don't look like a Russian. I mean,
you know, Russians, blond hair and cigarettes hanging from their lips. . . ."
"Prejudiced capitalist honky swine! You think that every black man in the world is a willing slave to his
imperialist masters. You forget that there are parts of the world where the free air of socialism is breathed
by the unshackled arms of workers freed from the repressive toils of the so-called free enterprise system.
My father, who was born on One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street in the city of New York, breathed
that free air while reluctantly serving in your warmongering Army in Germany and married my mother,
who was from the People's Democratic Republic of Germany, but enough, I waste my breath talking to
you. Suffice to say that after my father's untimely death my mother returned to her ancestral home, and I
grew to stalwart manhood under the snapping red flag of freedom."
"Treacherous turncoat Commie swine," Jerry murmured through clenched teeth.
"Flattery will get you nowhere. Now do as I say-" Chuck stepped forward, mighty fists clenched, and
the muzzle of the gun swung toward him. Instantly, Jerry dived for Johann. But the Soviet spy was too
fast for him. He stepped back and swung the gun, and a single shot cracked out, booming loudly in the
confined space. Jerry dropped, a growing red stain on his shirt, and Sally screamed.
"Do not move," their captor ordered. "You have no chance to escape, as I have just demonstrated,
since I am a perfect shot. That single bullet penetrated Jerry's biceps, and you will find the spent slug
lodged in the second volume of American Airports in the navigator's cubby. Now - about face and march
out of here!"
They had no recourse but to obey. Sally wrapped her scarf around the neat hole drilled in Jerry's arm,
and they walked reluctantly down the brightly illuminated corridor of the plane until they came to the toilet
area.
"Far enough," the Soviet spy called out. "Each of you into one of the booths, and I want to see the
occupied lights come on."
With dragging feet they followed the cruel instructions, and Jerry had one last glimpse of Sally's
endearing smile and the wave of a tiny hand before the prison door clanged shut behind her. Then Jerry
entered his own cell and busied himself washing and cleaning his wound and binding it up again, gritting
his teeth and ignoring the pain. Suddenly his sensitive nostrils twitched, and he jumped about. Yes! There
was a glowing red light at the crack around the door, and the paint was beginning to blister. Muttering an
oath under his breath, he unbolted the door and hurled his weight against it. It did not even quiver. The
thud of his body and his groan as he realized he had hit the door with the wrong shoulder were echoed
by sardonical laughter from the corridor outside.
"Yes," a wickedly jubilant voice called out, "The doors to your cells are welded shut, for I brought the
oxyhydrogen torch with me that you so carefully provided. Now that you are secure I can tell you that
not only am I an excellent shot, but I am also an expenenced pilot with thousands of hours on aircraft of
all kinds. You undoubtedly thought I would attempt to steal your invention and escape and that you
would then track me down and recapture me." The silence that followed indicated the acuteness of this
observation. "Well, you were wrong. I shall now fly this plane to Mother Russia, where experts will go
over it inch by inch, and also over you inch by inch as well!"
摘要：

StarSmashersoftheGalaxyRangersByHarryHarrisonv1.0Initialrelease-Kronosv1.1Removedextralinebreaksresultingin1lineperparagraph,addedblanklinebetweenparagraphsHarryHarrisonwasborninStamford,Connecticutin1925andlivedinNewYorkCityuntil1943,whenhejoinedtheUnitedStatesArmy.Hewasamachine-guninstructorduring...

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